


The Heroes of Haverford

by Sophie Brandeis (KayleeArafinwiel), WanderingBard



Series: Gedyr a Emlyg [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Greek and Roman Mythology, The Lord of the Rings Online
Genre: Dragonborn (D&D), Dragonborn Paladin, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Dwarf, Dwarf Rogue, Elf, Gen, Giant Badger Spellcaster, Half-Elf, Half-Elf Bard, Half-Elf Ranger (D&D), High Elf Cleric, Table Titans, Terror of Haverford
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-28 01:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12595292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayleeArafinwiel/pseuds/Sophie%20Brandeis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingBard/pseuds/WanderingBard
Summary: A pair of half-elven siblings strike out  with their animal companions to find adventure. Drawn to rumors of a threat in the Mirkwood, they find themselves the center of a fellowship of unlikely companions including an elven monster-hunter, an electric dragonborn sworn to follow his moon goddess, and a roguish dwarf with a taste for cheap cigarillos and a past he drinks to forget. What will they make of Sophie, Idhrenon, and each other? And will fate, their gods, or whatever may be out there permit the five to become the Heroes of Haverford?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based primarily on events from an actual D&D 5th Edition campaign Kaylee and I are participating in - which uses the "Terror of Haverford" adventure module. This module was created by Scott Kurtz, who writes the Table Titans web comic series. As such, here's a few things to keep in mind when reading this story:
> 
> 1\. If you plan on playing this module, DO NOT read this story as it will probably spoil everything.
> 
> 2\. If you've read First Encounters - the first season of Table Titans - while this story is set in Haverford and features characters you'll recognize from the comics, Scott reworked the plot to a have very different conclusion for the adventure module so that fans of the series would not just be retracing the steps of the Table Titans.
> 
> 3\. Kaylee and I do our best to rewrite descriptions of settings and/or add to any scenes that come from text in the adventure module. That said, please let us know if you feel something is bordering on plagiarism as per the rules of AO3. Though please be reasonable. Some things have to be directly quoted (documents the characters might find, certain bits of NPC dialogue provided by the book...) because of what they are.
> 
> 4\. As stated, the story is based on an actual D&D game. As such, the main characters are PCs played by Kaylee, myself, and our friends. Since most of this comes straight from the actual game, we don't actually control everything all the main characters do. However we can certainly pass opinions on a character along to the friend who created and plays them.

"Opa?"

The old man chuckled as his small grandson ran up to him, and he tousled the boy's unruly curls. "If it isn't my favorite imp," he said fondly, with a gentle tug on the boy's slightly pointed ear. "And what trouble might you have got into today, hmm, Nico?"

"I've been good, Opa! I promise!" came the earnest reply. Nico's grandfather raked gentle fingers through the sandy curls, lifting his grandson into his lap.

"Well then. I expect Sunna's been watching you all day to see," he replied. "And now she's going to her rest, and it'll be time for you as well."

"I don't want Máni to come," Nico complained.

"Well, come he must, as he does every night, and he'll watch over you for me. You are quite as safe with his eye on you as you are with Sunna," he said.

"Tonight is the night Máni closes his eye, Opa," Nico reminded his grandfather. "Tell me a story. Please, tell me a story, and stay with me?"

"And what story shall it be, imp?"

"Tell me about Haverford," Nico implored. " **The** story. The true story."

"You're a mite small for that one," Nico's grandfather said warily. "It's not a safe story, nor always a happy one."

"No. But it's ours. Please? I know you've told the others."

"And they were all older than you," was the firm reply.

"But Opa, you were there."

That gave the half-elf a start, and he smiled wanly. "So I was," he conceded. "And how you know that, before I've breathed a word of it, I suppose I've your brothers and sisters to thank."

Nico gave his grandfather a charming smile that fooled no one, least of all Lord Rowe.

"Well, then. I suppose it starts as all the good tales do, never mind I was in it. Once upon a time, long ago and far away, there was a town called Haverford. A good town, of good people, if a bit over-wary of strangers. And wary they'd a right to be, for they lived on the edge of the Mirkwood, where long before this, longer even than I could name, the old Kingdom of Dale was laid waste by the dragon."

Nico shivered. Lord Rowe raised a slender eyebrow. "Had enough yet, imp?"

"No," Nico said, his chin jutting out. "I'm not scared."

"Hmm. The people of Haverford were. Besides dragons, the Mirkwood had seen the likes of giant spiders, bats, and goblins that overran the Elven kingdom under the orders of the Necromancer, driving the Elves to dwell in secrecy in the far reaches of the land. They secluded themselves, and the Elven King grew close and chary, guarding his kingdom and all its treasures with great jealousy - not least the Princess Ivoniel, his only child and heir."

Nico looked exasperated. "Is there going to be kissing in this story, Opa?"

"Maybe," Lord Rowe said absently, hiding a smirk at his grandson's disgusted reaction.

"Kissing is stupid."

"You will like it when you are older," Lord Rowe said wryly. "There shouldn't be much in this story, I should think."

"All right," Nico said begrudgingly. "There better not be. What happened then?"

"To Haverford, or to the Princess?" Lord Rowe inquired.

"Get the kissing out of the way, I guess," Nico conceded. Lord Rowe stifled a laugh.

"Yes, well. About sixty years before my adventure happened, an adventurer and scholar named Wenceslas von Brandeis--" Nico perked up at the name, and Lord Rowe smiled.

"Yes, Lord Brandeis," he answered his grandson's unspoken question. "He traveled to the Elven Realm, bypassing the enchantments woven to keep humans away. It was cleverly done, and some say the Elven Queen permitted it for she tired of living in solitude. But Lord Brandeis was met not by the Queen, but by the Princess, and won her heart."

"Was that when the kissing happened?" Nico sighed.

"Some," Lord Rowe replied. "The Elven King wasn't very happy, but he let Lord Brandeis marry his daughter, and she went back with him to his home. They had a daughter, Idhrenwen."

"Lady Sophie," Nico said. "Aunt Sophie."

Lord Rowe nodded. "Yes, exactly. But twelve years later, Lord Brandeis died. His brother's family made the Princess leave, and they took Sophie for their own. When Sophie was a little older, her mother returned. She'd got married again, to a half-elf, Korin Rowe."

"Your papa," Nico guessed.

"Hmm. Yes, and she had me with him, and my own sister, Berethwen. But it was Idhrenwen - Sophie - and I who played at adventures together," Lord Rowe explained. "And when we were grown, or very nearly, we set out on our own adventure. A real adventure."

"Haverford," Nico said. "Now is the kissing part over?"

 _Oh, for the love of..._ Lord Rowe began mentally. He sighed. "Yes, now the kissing part is over. The story of Haverford's troubles really began some thirty years before we visited the keep. Spiders and other creatures of darkness had begun to spill out of the ruins and prey upon those who lived in the forest. A fellowship of adventures ventured into the keep's depths to put a stop to the servants of the Necromancer. They succeeded, but at great cost. Two of their own perished in the keep's dungeons, and their bodies remained there for many years."

Nico's eyes were wide, and he kept his gaze intently on his grandfather.

"The tiny village of Haverford was the closest settlement to the infamous keep, and in the years following that adventure the village became a bustling town, due in no small part to the influx of adventurers and the murchants who supplied them. Even Lord Brandeis made the trip to visit the town and the keep beyond; but as the years went by and the keep's treasures were picked clean, interest in exploring the site began to wane. The visitors to Haverford became fewer and further between until eventually they stopped all together after the last fellowship to visit the keep never returned, prompting the appointed sherrif to forbid any further expeditions."

"Girion's Keep stood empty and abandoned, and over the next ten years the population of Haverford continued to dwindle and life in the village became quiet."

"That sounds boring, Opa," Nico replied, sounding disinterested. "I thought you said it was an adventure."

"It is," said Lord Rowe. "Ten years later was when the attacks began."

Nico sat up straighter. "Attacks?"

Lord Rowe frowned a little. "I knew this story was too frightening..."

"No, I'm not scared, Opa!" Nico protested. "I just want to know what happened. I'm going to be a brave warrior and defend the family holdings one day, just like you."

Lord Rowe smiled a little wistfully as he conceded. "Very well. Now, where was I?... Ah, yes. A string a brutal killings occurred across the Mirkwood. Within a single month Haverford's population doubled as hunters, loggers, and homesteaders fled their homes for the safety of Haverford's hastily erected walls. No one knew exactly who, or what, was responsible for the killings. The townsfolk referred to the mysterious culprit as _the Terror_."

Nico hung on to his Opa's every word, unwilling to miss anything. "Was it a monster?"

His grandfather chuckled and smirked, "I can't tell you that now, imp, or it will spoil the ending. All I can say is that the sudden influx of people had overwhelmed the small town. Between the overcrowded conditions and the constant fear of another attack by _the Terror_ , tensions were running high..."

Nico snuggled into his grandfather's embrace, listening raptly as his Opa told the story. He would stay awake for the whole thing, he promised himself. He would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunna - the Germanic sun goddess  
> Máni - the Germanic moon god  
> Opa - Grandpapa
> 
> Note for this and future chapters: Themes and some names have been borrowed from Tolkien's Legendarium, though this story is set firmly in a slightly modified - to add locations of Scott Kurtz's creations which aren't exactly D&D canon - version of the D&D 'verse. Elven names and the names of Elven 'gods' are clearly Sindarin, and occasionally Quenya. Some place names invented for extensions of Tolkienverse (i.e. Lord of the Rings Online) will appear later. This is not to imply these are the same places as shown in Middle-earth, whether book, movie or gameverse, but that the "Elvish" and "Dwarvish" spoken by the Elves, Half-Elves and Dwarves are based on Tolkien's languages because that's what Kaylee Arafinwiel, or Sophie Brandeis (me) knows.
> 
> The Men from Lord Rowe (Idhrenon) and Sophie's family have Germanic and/or Norse names and follow old Germanic gods.


	2. Every Story Starts Somewhere

The night was wet and stormy outside The Prancing Unicorn, but inside the fires roared, the food was warm, and the mood was bright and cheerful despite the inclement weather. The jovial atmosphere might have had something to do with the female half-elf and her male companion, who were presently entertaining the guests. The female - who was fair skinned with brown hair and blue eyes - alternated between singing and playing a tin whistle. The male - who accompanied her on a lute - was equally fair, and had brown hair and eyes. While he was clearly of elven origin - his ears being even more pointed than his compatriot’s - the barest hints of a beard on his face gave away the fact that he also wasn't a full elf. A hound pranced back and forth at their feet, all but dancing to the two half-elves’ music.

_"And up into her pear tree was handsome Pyrrhus sent_

_For there he'd thought of a clever plan and that was how it went_

_Oh there he'd thought of a clever plan, and that was how it went,"_  

Sophie finished, with a flourish of notes on her flute. She twirled around, ending in a bow, and straightened again.

The room roared with laughter and applause, and Idhrenon turned to his half-sister with a grin. They'd been fairly lucky in their travels - finding most innkeepers would give entertainers modest lodging in exchange for performing for the other guests. It wasn't as if they didn't have the coin to pay for rooms, though much of the money at Sophie's disposal wasn't being physically carried with them; and since they hadn't had much luck in treasure hunting as of yet, they felt it best to save coin wherever they could in the meantime.

As the applause died down, the innkeeper's wife, Myra, gave them a signal they'd agreed upon to indicate that the siblings could take a break and get some food. The other patrons turned to chattering with each other while the two slipped into chairs at an empty table As Myra brought the siblings steaming bowls of stew, one of the other patrons at a nearby table could be heard commenting, "It's a shame what's happening in Haverford, isn't it?"

"That's enough, Lowell," chastised Myra. "We've all heard about that poor town, but the night is dismal enough without talk of such things."

Sophie turned an inquiring look on Myra. "What's happening in Haverford?" she asked quietly.

"You haven't heard about _the Terror_?" asked Lowell.

Idhrenon shook his head.

Lowell looked up to Myra, who rolled her eyes and walked away. As she left he started, "Someone, or something, is on a killing spree in the Mirkwood. It all began about a month ago. No one knows who or what is responsible. They all refer to it as _the Terror_."

"That sounds...disturbing." Sophie frowned. "Well, whoever or whatever it is, they ought to be stopped, wouldn't you say, little brother?"

"How do they know all of these killings are connected?" asked Idhrenon.

"Because," said Lowell, "It leaves the same mark on all the bodies. _The mark of the Terror_."

"The mark of the Terror," Sophie repeated slowly, frowning. "Father liked Haverford when he travelled there," she said quietly. "He wouldn't have wanted it to remain unprotected."

Idhrenon nodded, "It's as you said, whoever or whatever it is must be stopped."

"Are you crazy?" scolded Lowell. "It's the ones traveling through the Mirkwood that are being attacked. You go there, and you'll be just as likely to end up the next victims."

"Except that we have an advantage the others probably didn't have," said Idhrenon with a sly grin, "an eye in the sky." He motioned upward to where a hawk was perched in the rafters. The hound, which had lain down by the male half-elf’s feet, looked up and nudged Idhrenon's leg. "And this guy," Idhrenon amended, scratching the dog's head. "He can hear and smell things we might miss."

Sophie lifted her flute to her lips and played a three-note signal. Fionwë swept down from his perch, landing on Sophie's leather-gloved arm.

Lowell still seemed dubious, though, and grumbled, "I still say you're likely to end up dead, Lad. You and your sister are pretty green when it comes to being adventurers."

Sophie drew herself up proudly, eyes flashing. "I expect you've heard of Dietrich Wenceslas von Brandeis, the explorer and scholar?"

"Aye, Lass," said Lowell. "But what does that have to do with the price of mead in Brekinford?"

"I'm his heir, Didrika Sophie Brandeis," Sophie replied. "He taught me all he knew, and I have taught my brother everything he taught me."

"Those people need help," Idhrenon said, "We may not have a lot of experience, but we'll never get any if we shy away from situations like this because of the risk."

At this, Lowell turned to one of the other men near him. "You still have that drawing of the mark, Percival?" The man Lowell addressed wordlessly pulled a sheet of paper out of his breast pocket and passed it to Lowell, who handed it to Idhrenon. "You kids just be sure you don't end up being the next to be marked with this."

The mark on the paper was suggestive of a human figure—an inverted triangle for the head, its lines extending down to make two legs, and a horizontal bar for the arms—with each of the five extremities pinned by a small crosshatch. Sophie stared at the symbol, eyes wide with recognition. She'd seen that mark before; she saw it every day.

Lowell didn't seem to notice Sophie's expression as he turned back to his table now. Meanwhile Idhrenon turned to Sophie. In a hushed voice he said, "You recognize this symbol, don't you?" His tone and expression made it clear that he did, and wanted to be sure he wasn't the only one.

Sophie slipped her hand below her collar, shaking Fionwë off her arm. He perched on the back of the chair instead, and she drew out a necklace of fine golden chain, from which a pendant dangled. The pendant, too, was gold; a round fish with bright adamant eyes. But as Sophie turned the fish over in her hand, the symbol was revealed on the other side.

"The odd thing," said her brother, eyeing the identical symbol on her necklace, "is that Mom said your dad's trip to explore the ruined keep near Haverford was shortly after you were born. He brought that back with him, and it's been in your family's possession for roughly thirty years. That means the symbol predates these goings on in Haverford. So, are these killings just someone using it for their own means, or is there truly a connection?"

"I don't know," Sophie replied slowly. "I never asked Papa about the symbol's meaning. I just thought it was a pretty design."

Idhrenon looked back down at the sheet of paper in his hand. His brow furrowed as he said, "Then I think we go to Haverford. Not only to help, but because that's most likely where we'll find an answer as to the symbol's origin."

Sophie nodded decisively. "Yes. We must go and find out."

* * *

Urist followed his guide down a short hallway to a door, which was opened for him. The room beyond was a study of sorts, the walls lined with bookshelves and a desk in the center of the room. Behind the desk sat a blonde, middle-aged woman with a stern expression who poured over ledgers and papers. The woman was the guildmaster of a trade guild called the Kingfishers, and this building was their main base of operation. She’d asked for Urist to be brought to her, but little explanation had been given to the dwarf about why.

“Ma’am, Urist Jakobsson here to see you,” said the worker who’d led him in.

“Thank you, Aletha. That will be all,” said the woman, hardly looking up from her work.

Aletha left the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Take a seat, Urist,” she said, finally looking up at the dwarf before her. He had dark hair and a serious face with a neatly trimmed beard on his chin. Being both tall and skinny for a dwarf, he almost resembled a short human. One could even consider him good looking in a rugged sort of way.

“My name is Alexandrina. I’ve heard you were looking to make some coin, and it happens that I’m looking to hire a man to solve a problem of mine.” She stood from the desk and paced behind it as she spoke. “To the north of us is a region known as the Mirkwood. My guild runs caravans through there quite frequently, but recently we’ve been experiencing some problems. Over the last month there have been numerous attacks in the wood. No one knows who or what is responsible. The locals refer to the perpetrator as ‘the Terror.’” She paused to let these words sink in. “Whoever or whatever it is has been resulting in a huge loss to my guild. Some of our caravans don’t even return despite hiring guards to protect them. I need someone experienced, someone who knows how to defend himself, to go in there and deal with this ‘Terror.’”

Urist shook his head. "I'm no assassin, or bounty hunter; I've seen too much blood spilt in my life to spill any more just for coin. I'll find out who or what this Terror is and I'll bring you their name, but if you want their head you'll need to look elsewhere."

“I don’t really care how you deal with it," Alexandrina said curtly. "Bring me their name. Hand them over to the sheriff in Haverford. Whatever you like. As long as the culprit is found, and the matter can be laid to rest.”

* * *

Eloen Silbernagel rubbed her temples as she walked along the road. After hearing of the attacks in the Mirkwood, journeying to Haverford had always been in her plans. Still, she kept putting it off because of other, more pressing matters that lay between her and the Mirkwood. As a monster hunter, there were plenty of dangers in the world that needed dealing with.

It seemed, however, that something - possibly her patron god, Apollo - wanted to hurry her on the way to Haverford. The past few weeks her sleep had been disturbed by a recurring dream which she remembered very little of - the sole remnant that stuck with her always being the word Haverford. She had taken as a sign that she needed to stop putting this trip off and finally get on her way, so that's what she'd done.

As the road she was on merged onto Kingsroad - the road which lead to Haverford, whose name was one of the few remnants of a northern kingdom that had once existed there - she found that there were other travelers on the road with her, and they all seemed to be headed in the same direction. The other travelers included a tall dwarf in a trenchcoat, two half-elves - a female who carried a hawk and a male with a hound walking beside him - and a blue dragonborn paladin in knightly garb.  
Being an elf herself, and intrigued by the hawk the female carried, Eloen approached the pair. “That’s a lovely bird. How did you come to own it?”

Sophie overheard the nearby dwarf swearing under his breath, presumably at the map he was trying to read. However, her attention was focused on the approaching elven maiden. It wasn’t often she had chanced to meet one of her own kind outside their little family, so she was intrigued but wary. Sophie edged closer to Idhrenon as the girl drew nearer, and managed a smile; her hawk, Fionwë, sidled down her arm, keeping to the leather gauntlet that covered it. He eyed the elven girl, hoping for treats. Meanwhile her brother’s dog, Garavion, drifted a little, nearing the dragonborn and sniffing at it hesitantly.

Smiling kindly, Eloen said, “Let’s start over. My name is Eloen Silbernagel. It’s nice to meet you.” She kept a polite distance while clearly offering for them to come closer if they wished.

Idhrenon was the first to finally respond. “I am Idhrenon Rowe. This is my sister, Sophie. Her hawk was a gift from her father. He used to train them."

Sophie smiled and nodded, looking wistful. "Fionwë has been faithful to me since he was a chick."

“Well, he’s quite beautiful, as is your hound. It’s nice to see another elf, even a half-elf like yourself. I haven’t been around those like myself in quite some time,” Eloen replied, offering her hand to the dog to sniff. Garavion did so and licked it afterward, apparently deciding Eloen was not a threat.

In their peripheral vision, the three saw the dwarf sigh heavily and stuff the map back into the deep pocket of his traveling coat. Clearly frustrated, he pulled out a cigarillo - not unlike those her papa had been fond of, though evidently far cheaper. He squinted at it, fumbling with his flint and steel, and Sophie tensed as the dwarf approached. Her mother’s people were not overfond of his kind and she was naturally concerned. Still, with his hands occupied, it didn’t seem he could offer her, Idhrenon, or Eloen any violence.  
  
As it happened, she needn’t have worried, for he looked past them to the dragonborn and asked, “Anyone have a light?”  
  
“I would offer to light it, but I’m not that type of dragonborn,” was the reptilian’s reply. Sophie considered this. She’d thought all dragons breathed fire, and wondered what the dragonborn might be capable of if not that.  
  
“Thanks anyway,” said the dwarf.  
  
“Sorry, I don’t have a match,” Eloen said as he turned to her. “Where are you going?” she asked as the group began walking together.

“Haverford eventually. I was hired by a trading guild to retrace the route of their most recent caravan,” explained the dwarf. “It passed through these woods, but never reached its destination. The guildmaster claimed the people in town blame  _the Terror,_ whatever that is. I guess it’s my job to figure that out now and come back with answers… and preferably all my extremities.”

Eloen found herself chuckling at the dwarf’s explanation. “I’m here to help, if it is the Terror. I’m a monster hunter, so when I heard about it I headed this way, and when the nightmares started it hurried me up.”

"Nightmares?" asked Idhrenon, concern obvious in his tone.

Garavion nudged Eloen’s hand, and she reached down to pet him absent-mindedly as she responded, “Well… Nightmare, singular, really. The same one, though I don’t remember much of it except the word ‘Haverford’ and a feeling of fear. I’m thinking it was a dream given by Apollo.”

"We're looking for the Terror as well," Sophie replied, placing her right hand on her brother's shoulder, and clasping her pendant in her left. She was unable to voice the shock she felt when she was told of the Terror's symbol. Neither sibling voiced the fact that the symbol was on Sophie’s pendant yet, for neither truly knew what that fact meant.

Fortunately, no one noticed - or at least no one remarked on - Sophie’s gesture. Eloen’s speech seemed to have captured the interest of both the non-elves. “Wait, you’re a monster hunter?” the dragonborn exclaimed. “What be your name?” At nearly the same moment, the dwarf spoke up.  
  
“I’m no hunter, ma’am, but I’d be glad of another pair of eyes out here. Something about these woods has me on edge.” He paused to consider his words. “Or, well, it might just be that I forgot to buy any matches in Zigilgund and I haven’t had a smoke in four hours.” He chuckled dryly. Sophie’s interest was caught somewhat - Zigilgund, she knew, was a Dwarven silver mining settlement somewhere to the far north of her home - but she didn’t speak.

“Eloen Silbernagel,” said the monster hunter. “And yours?”  
“Marxan Colter. I’ve heard of you,” the dragonborn replied.  _Heard of her?_ Sophie wondered, exchanging glances with Idhrenon.  _She_ certainly hadn’t heard of Eloen Silbernagel before. “I’m Urist,” she heard the Dwarf say, but still pondered the dragonborn’s words for a few more moments.

She didn’t have much time to think on the matter, however, as she heard a rustling sound in the bushes and voices chattering softly in an unfamiliar language. It seemed most of the party heard it too. Idhrenon stopped and put a hand protectively out in front of her. Urist let his traveling coat swing open, revealing a rapier on his hip.

Marxan was the only one who didn’t seem to opt for stealth, pointing at the bushes and shouting, “Show yourself!”

Eloen looked around at the group, clearly confused, and asked “What are you guys doing?”

Before Eloen had finished speaking, a strange vial came flying out of the bushes, shattering on the ground. Its contents dissipated in the air, creating a strange fog that smelled foul and glowed evilly, rolling forward to envelop the group.

"Oh fuck! Everyone down! Cover your mouth and nose!” Urist called out; he’d already done so, apparently quickly enough that the potion didn’t affect him. “I dunno what that is, but for crying out loud try not to breathe it in!"

Sophie and Idhrenon were grabbed suddenly by Eloen, who didn’t think twice about protecting her fellow elves, even half-elves. The monster hunter pulled them to the ground with her, sending Fionwë flying off Sophie's arm and right into the noxious fog. He was immediately affected, much to Sophie’s horror, and dropped like a stone, fast asleep. Garavion, leaping to catch the hawk, fell asleep as well with Fionwë’s leather jesses caught in his mouth, tumbling them both to the ground.

Urist unslung his crossbow and awkwardly tried to cock it while lying prone. Meanwhile Marxan, the only one to not react quickly enough, also breathed in some of the noxious gas and collapsed onto the road; this caused Urist to swear colorfully.

As the gas cleared, five goblins leapt from the bushes. The group was surrounded.

“Damn,” Eloen muttered as she stood up, grabbing her shortbow and taking a guard position on the dwarf.

 _My thoughts exactly,_ Sophie agreed silently. The dwarf, however, was in no mood to be silent. “I’ll force-feed you little green buggers your own spleens, see if I don’t!” he bellowed, and Sophie suppressed an inopportune snort of amusement.  _So he can be as loud as the dragonborn, then. That figures._

Focus. She had to focus. The others were all standing up, even her brother who had drawn his longbow. Eloen had gone over to the sleeping dragonborn, gently kicking him in the hip.

“Hey, get up,” she said. Sophie couldn’t tell whether it was the kick or the comment which had done it, but the startled dragonborn jolted awake with a fearful roar. Sophie jumped in surprise, turning just in time to notice the dwarf looking rather impressed - whether with Eloen or their draconian companion, she couldn’t tell.  
  
The goblins, however, seemed rather less impressed now they had a dragonborn along with the others to deal with, and the fight began in earnest. Eloen grabbed the nearest one around the neck, intoning a spell. A gash tore through its throat, severing important blood vessels; it gurgled and dropped dead.

 _Must not have broken his fast today,_ Sophie thought with grim humor.  _And he was stupid enough not to put on armor._ Behind Eloen, the dragonborn was struggling to his feet and readying his hammer, but Sophie’s brother was quicker.

Idhrenon fired an arrow at one of the remaining goblins. The shot hit its mark, and it yelped something in what Sophie could only assume was a goblinoid language.

Sophie saw the dwarf fix his gaze on another of the goblins. This one was holding a cork that clearly came from the thrown vial.  
  
“I’ll fix him,” Urist muttered. He raised his crossbow and fired a bolt - not, as Sophie expected, at the goblin’s heart, but lower down. It struck its mark, and it had to be owned that all the males in the party, even Urist himself, winced. Sophie, on the other hand, rather felt the goblin deserved it. The goblin fell prone, clearly in excruciating pain.

Another goblin fired its shortbow at Sophie, while a fourth rushed to attack Eloen with its scimitar. The arrow flew so wide of its mark that Sophie barely flinched, and the blade landed in its wielder instead of his target.

As the goblin who had meant to strike Eloen slashed itself in the leg, Sophie hid a grin.  _Wonder how much that one had to drink this morning?_ Clearly the goblin wasn’t too bright. Also, from the amount of blood, it seemed he had hit something crucial.

“Dear Armok,” Urist muttered. Sophie nudged Idhrenon.  
“What’s an Armok?” she inquired. There was no time for him to answer, as the final goblin - the one Idhrenon had shot - was rushing the dragonborn with his scimitar raised. Despite his injury, the goblin somehow succeeded in slashing the reptilian paladin and severely weakening him.  
  
This thoroughly angered Sophie, who could not stand to see injustice visited on her family, friends, or even relatively unknown companions. Everything these goblins had done came to a head and she whipped out her rapier, charging the goblin who’d shot at her.  
  
“I’ll kill you, you spawn of the Nameless!” she snarled. “This is for Fionwë! And for all my companions!” As she bore down on him, she added with a feral grin, “But honestly, you? I’d kill  _you_ for a piece of Forochel fudge. You couldn’t even shoot me, and now you won’t get a chance to try again. Rot in Angband, you good for nothing bastard!” With an expression as cold and merciless as the snows of Forochel themselves, she slashed him open from navel to neck, sending him to the ground in a pool of blood and entrails.

“What’s Forochel fudge?” the dragonborn called over to her, though Sophie barely heard him. The bloodlust had overwhelmed her, and only when it began to recede did she realize he’d addressed her at all.

Eloen, who’d seemed rather impressed by Sophie’s performance, turned to him and called out, “Are you really asking that after she just...wow...” Meanwhile Urist closed his eyes for a moment, his expression slightly pained.

As what she’d done started to sink in, Sophie heard a raptor cry and looked to see Fionwë awake, swooping down upon the goblin that was fighting Eloen, or trying to. The goblin was already bleeding heavily from the self-inflicted leg wound that had cut his artery; it didn’t take much more than a few swipes from the hawk’s talons - one to the goblin’s neck, the others to its chest area - to finish him off.

That left two goblins standing - or alive rather, as the one was still laying on the ground with Urist’s crossbow bolt in an unfortunate place.

The standing goblin, however, was about to wish he were in his companion’s place; when Sophie’s hawk had finished off Eloen’s combatant, Eloen uttered words of magic. Shimmering light crossed the distance from her to the dragonborn, healing his wounds. That done, the reptilian paladin was on his feet and reaching for his great warhammer, rushing the goblin who had been responsible for the wounds in the first place. Bellowing, “YOU DARE ATTACK A PALADIN OF THE LIGHT?” the dragonborn swung his hammer at the goblin, striking its target and caving its head in with the mighty blow.

Sophie was certainly impressed. Beside her, she heard Eloen murmur, “Ridiculous electric lizard-boy,” and stifled a giggle. It made a refreshing change from the horror of the last few minutes.

Urist turned to Eloen and asked, "Do you object to offering a healing spell to the newly-minted castrato over there in return for him answering some questions?"

“Wow...good job, Marxan!” Eloen said to the paladin, before turning to Urist. “Well... I don’t necessarily object, but I’m not sure how well he’ll take it since we’re probably just going to kill him anyway.”

As the five debated what to do, the goblin snarled and shouted something at the dwarf in the strange chatter they’d been speaking in. Idhrenon shouted back at the goblin, speaking the same bizarre language - a feat which surprised Sophie momentarily until she remembered he’d become rather skilled at dealing with goblins in the outlying settlements of the duchy which was Sophie’s by right. They frequently invaded from the woods near the border between the mortal lands and the Elven realm.

“What did you say to him?” she asked Idhrenon.

"He insulted the dwarf's mother,” he responded matter-of-factly, “so I told him to leave her out of this."

Urist turned to Idhrenon now and said, "Tell him that if he plays ball with us, we'll play ball with him, as it were."

Eloen looked amused as the dragonborn walked past. Addressing the dwarf, she said, “After what you did to him, Urist, I wouldn’t mention ‘balls’ if I were you.”  
  
The dragonborn picked the goblin up. “Hey dwarf, I say we use this bolt as a form of  _incentive,_ ” he suggested with a meaningful edge to his tone. Sophie was not quite sure what he was implying, however.

Urist rolled his eyes, wondering when  _he’d_ become the sensible one. “Look, just tell him the lady will- “, he began, adding an unknown to Sophie, possibly crude phrase in Dwarvish and a suggestive gesture before switching back to Common, “-his bollocks back and we'll let him go free if he tells us who's been knocking off caravans and where they're taking the spoils, will you?"

To this statement, Marxan interrupted and added, “If not he’s going to have two sacs,” while grabbing the crossbow bolt in his free hand and giving it a tug.

“...And I can’t stop you from stabbing, shooting, or whatever-ing him in the back if you really must,” Urist continued despite the interruption, “but I’d really rather you… Okay, now you’re just being a dick.”

“They put me to sleep when I was trying to travel, so I have every right, tiny one,” was the dragonborn’s careless reply. Sophie stared in shock and consternation. Despite her own giving way to the bloodlust not long ago, even she had standards, and she’d never seen the point of  _torture_ before. She’d never taken a sapient creature’s life before this day either, but even if the deaths she’d been responsible for hadn’t been precisely clean, at least they were swift. It seemed Urist wasn’t happy either, but he declined to comment, merely taking a long pull from a flask of apparently strong liquor.

Idhrenon seemed rather bothered by the reptilian’s actions too, but nonetheless translated some part - Sophie was unsure exactly what part - of what was being said to the goblin.

As Idhrenon was listening to the goblin’s reply, Eloen gestured at Marxan and remarked in aside to the others, “To be fair, his buddy tried to kill him a minute ago and probably would’ve succeeded. He’s in pain, and  _a bit of a pain_ anyway from what I’ve heard of his reputation among other Hunters.”

Idhrenon turned to the others and relayed the goblin’s words. “He says his mistress will kill him anyway if he tells us.”

Fionwë wasn’t very interested in the conversation; the bird seemed more interested in the fact the dwarf had a drink on him. Usually to the hawk’s mind, drinks meant food and that meant fish for him. Sadly, fish were hard to come by in the middle of a wood with no discernible streams. Marxan was still fixated on the goblin. “You sure you don’t want to share with us?” He asked, glaring daggers at the small humanoid.

Urist, clearly misunderstanding who the dragonborn’s statement was directed at, begrudgingly held out the flask, saying, “If we’re going to be working together, my dear fellow, I suspect I’m going to need all I can get.”

Whether the goblin could understand his words or not, it understood the draconian’s look. It babbled something again, which Idhrenon translated as, “He says they’ve been responsible for some of the attacks, but not all of them.”

"Ask him if…,” began Urist, before Marxan interrupted and bellowed, “WHO ELSE IS RESPONSIBLE?” Urist concluded by simply remarking, “Well, what he said. I doubt the likes of these rank amateurs are who I've been hired to find."

Idhrenon, looking somewhat frustrated with Marxan, translated the words; and when the goblin responded he relayed that, "He doesn't know. They're only attacking because this mistress of theirs commands it of them."

Idhrenon was clearly not the only one getting fed up with Marxan’s behavior. Eloen pulled out her mace with a sigh, before shouting, “Marxan, if you don’t calm down, I’ll have to put you back the way you were. You’re being ridiculous”

Urist eyed the reptilian as he said, “Ask him if what this mistress of his will do to him if he tells us her name is worse than what the large, scaley fellow is likely to do if he doesn’t.”

Before Idhrenon could even begin translating the message, though, Marxan gave an exasperated sigh and wrenched the crossbow bolt out of the goblin’s nether regions. Urist eyes welled up with tears at the sight. Meanwhile Idhrenon turned away, closing his eyes. The goblin gave a final gurgle and went limp in the dragonborn’s grip.

Urist put his head in his hand for a moment before regarding Marxan with a look of distaste mixed with apprehension. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“We weren’t getting much more information out of him anyways,” said Eloen with a shrug. “Want to see if they were carrying anything that could help us figure out what he wouldn’t say?”  
Fionwë and Sophie both looked at the dead goblin with distaste. The hawk would have felt more comfortable if the corpse was a fish, as he was growing ever hungrier, but no one else seemed to share his thought, with the possible exception of his fellow animal companion.   
  
“No, I didn’t do it on purpose...well, can anyone speak to the dead?” the dragonborn asked, eyeing Idhrenon, who had already displayed a capacity for surprising language ability.

“I speak goblin, but I can’t speak to the dead,” responded the half-elf, cringing a little at the mere suggestion. This was a less violent reaction to the suggestion than Urist’s - who blanched and fell to his knees, coughing.

“Nor can I, unfortunately,” said Eloen. “Though as I said before, maybe they have something on them.”

Sophie had kept quiet during this exchange, trying to keep her composure as Urist lost his. _You are Didrika Sophie von Brandeis. You are the Lady Brandeis. You cannot react, not again. No fear, no anger._ She swallowed her emotions, focusing on her hawk and keeping him calm. “You did well, Fionwë,” she murmured. “You will have your reward soon enough.” Food and rest would be welcome whenever they chanced to get it.

At Eloen’s suggestion, she joined the others in searching the bodies; a gruesome task, but not one she would stand aside from if her companions felt it was right. It seemed to be all for naught, however - their battered weapons and goblin armour were useless, and they carried nothing else, even coin.

Disgusted, Marxan heaved the bodies aside in a careless heap. “Useless, lowly henchmen,” the dragonborn groused. “We will have to continue.”

“I could try to track them back to their mistress,” Idhrenon offered, but then he noted how dark the woods were getting. The sun was setting, and it wouldn’t be long before nightfall. It would soon be too dark for tracking; and better to not be lost in the woods, off the main road, when that time came.

Urist looked warily at his companions, as though doubting their sanity, then heaved a deep sigh and clapped his hands briskly, rubbing them together. “Right then, I’ll get the fire lit so we can get a brew on, shall we?” he asked with false good cheer.

“I’ll make sure nothing’s ruined--MARXAN!” Eloen’s response to the dwarf was cut short as she saw the dragonborn carelessly walking away from the rest of the party. “You get back here right now!”

Fionwë seemed just as irritated, swooping down on the dragonborn with a cry of anger and attempting to herd him back toward the group. Marxan turned back reluctantly, stomping back to the others. “Why should we tarry here?” he demanded.

“I know there’s a lot of ground to cover,” explained Urist, “but it’ll be dark within an hour or two. Better to make camp for the night and start afresh at first light. Your companion’s healing arts can only do so much.”

“Sustenance will help us heal and build strength to better face what troubles may lie ahead,” Eloen agreed.

“Surely the town is not far from here anyhow,” argued the reptilian.

Sophie rolled her eyes at Fionwë’s attempts to keep Marxan from leaving. She played her three-note whistle to call the hawk back to her hand, and as he reluctantly obeyed, she looked to her younger brother. “Should we press on, or make camp, Idhrenon?” she asked. As she did, Garavion nudged Idhrenon's leg and whined. “How far is it to town?”  
  
Before her brother could answer, Urist pulled out his map again. “How far…” he muttered, taking another pull from his flask.  
  
“If we keep going, we can reach it by nightfall,” insisted the dragonborn. Sophie couldn’t help thinking that it was easy for Marxan to say that.

“You’re still injured, in any case,” argued Eloen. “I healed you quite a bit, but it’s not perfect yet. That may slow us down.”

“All the more reason to get going now,” Marxan returned. “There are healers in town that can help.”

“Well, I don’t much like the idea of blundering around these woods in the dark, but I won’t turn down the chance of a hot meal and a proper bed if you all think we can make it,” Urist conceded. At the mention of food, the hawk perked up. He circled the group, flapping determinedly and looking in the direction of town. _Of course. Food and he changes his mind._ Sophie sighed.

“Even if it becomes dark, the moon goddess shall protect and watch over us,” Marxan said, brandishing his shield upon which a holy symbol was blazoned - a pair of female eyes surrounded by seven stars.

 _The moon goddess?_ Sophie thought, exchanging curious glances with her brother. They had been raised knowing of the Moon Lord, Tilion or Máni, and the Lady of the Sun, Arien or Sunna. Still, she was aware other cultures had different beliefs, though she didn’t know much about them. To be fair, this moon goddess was not the only unfamiliar deity that had been mentioned by one of their fellow travelers either. Eloen had mentioned an Apollo, which was a name Sophie was unfamiliar with and assumed was probably a god or goddess of some sort.

Sophie was broken out of her thoughts by Eloen, who spoke to her saying, “Your friend seems impatient to eat.”

Sophie looked to her circling hawk as she responded, “He’s irritable when he’s hungry… and he’s just fought a goblin for the first time, so he’s very hungry, I should say. He’s not the only one wishing for a hot meal, a bath, and bed either.”

Urist made another attempt to light a cigarillo with his firesteel as he muttered, “Wouldn’t turn down the chance to get some blasted matches either…”

Eloen chuckled. “We could all use a bath, at least.” She gestured to her clothes and armor, or perhaps moreso to the blood and grime covering them. The rest of the party was just as bad if not worse for the wear.

Idhrenon nodded, “Sounds like we’re pretty much in favor of continuing on to the town, then.”

“Well, lay on then,” Urist said - briefly confusing Sophie, until Marxan turned and led the way. Then she understood, and like the rest of the group, Sophie fell in behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Sophie sings is "Up Into The Pear Tree", by Heather Dale, based on a tale from "The Decameron" by the 14th-century Italian author Giovanni Boccaccio (1313–1375) who may or may not be an ancestor of Arthur Boccaccio, Kaylee/Sophie's foster-father and the inspiration for Dietrich Wenceslas von Brandeis (his name in the Society for Creative Anachronism, or SCA.)  
> Heather Dale, or Lady Marian of Heatherdale in the SCA, is a major influence of Sophie's music and more of her songs are likely to appear.


End file.
